The Night They Stayed At Home
by vilyasthrall
Summary: Wizard Squared leaves Mellisande, Bibbie and Sir Alec alone in Monk's house for about sixteen hours whilst the events in the alternative universe. How did they feel, knowing the details of the other universe whilst being unable to assist? Pretty awful, I'd bet.
_Disclaimer: The Rogue Agent Sequence and all characters within belongs exclusively to Karen Miller, as K. E. Mills. I do not own any characters or settings._

 _Plea: Continuing in my so-far futile quest to find one person who has read the Rogue Agent Sequence... (you know you're desperate when you start reading Amazon reviews for solace) Here we are. Take my bait and review by all means, but just tell me you've read them. Please!_

 _Warning: Some mild profanities and Edwardian cussing._

 **The Night They Stayed At Home**

 _Wizard Squared leaves Mellisande, Bibbie and Sir Alec alone in Monk's house for about sixteen hours whilst the events in the alternative universe. How did they feel, knowing the details of the other universe whilst being unable to assist? Pretty awful, I'd bet._

Mellisande clenched her hands tight around her mug and then forcibly relaxed them, over and over again. She didn't have any claim on Monk, of course, but the fact that Sir Alec was sending him into danger _again_ smarted, as did his selfless decision to agree.

Why couldn't he just be selfish with his help for once in his life? She didn't want to lose him before she'd even officially gained him. Then she'd really regret never accepting his invitation to lodge in this blasted house.

At least Reg went with him.

That thought lifted her spirits. Not because it meant she wasn't here- or at least, not just because of that- but because if anyone knew what to do to protect him from Gerald, even an evil Gerald, it was her. One Reg was worth a hundred nasty Department stooges' etheric machines, obviously.

Talking of Department stooges, the nerve of that man! Locking them out of the library without so much as a by-your-leave. Alright, they didn't own the house, and Mellisande didn't live there, but Bibbie was- technically- the housekeeper, and that made her the de facto head servant. And Monk's heir.

 _Don't think about that Don't think-_

She hoped Bibbie would sense it when Monk and Gerald came back. Otherwise she wouldn't put it past Sir Alec to sneak them both out and spend a few days debriefing them without saying anything.

Mellisande added a liberal amount of sherry to her tea and decided to forget.

Sweet on Sir Alec! How dare she insinuate such a thing, Bibbie raged silently as she threw herself into her normal seat at the kitchen table.

But, Bibbie added ruefully- and only to herself- that the blood-battered bird might have had a point. She took a tentative sip of her tea and sighed, deliberately averting her gaze from the ceiling, and by extension, the study that he was in.

 _Sweet on Sir Alec?_

Ridiculous. She loved Gerald. She knew she did. He was brave and strong, and compassionate, and heart-warming. He sacrificed himself constantly for the good of the world, even though she knew as well as he did that she loved him and he her.

But that was the problem, wasn't it? She loved Gerald for those qualities, and both Gerald and Sir Alec had them in abundance.

It would be easier in some ways if she just felt attracted to Gerald physically, Bibbie told herself as she continued to slurp her tea. Gerald was only plain, in a, well, plain-looking way, though.

And in the last few months, she'd seen enough of those qualities in Sir Alec.

But those in love were bound to see resemblances between their loved ones and those they admired and respected, weren't they?

 _The older man mistake, ducky._

Bibbie shivered and buried her face in her hands. Reg had made that option seem so... laughable, and silly. Of course, she knew it was. He was decades older. Dour. Grim. A poor substitute for Gerald.

But wasn't he what Gerald might become? What he was dangerously close to before he joined the Agency? Sir Alec was Gerald, all grown up without anyone to talk to but still, just, preserving that oddly compassionate edge beneath his layers of coldness.

Protective coldness?

Gerald had said a few times that he thought there was more to Sir Alec, emotionally, than met the eye, and why else would he be here now, if not for that?

She'd never be certain about what motivated Sir Alec. Perhaps that was why she liked arguing with him, even if he did have some prehistoric ideas about how ladies should be treated. He was oddly childlike in a way.

And perhaps, she admitted, she rather enjoyed the arguments, and sometimes had the half-feeling that he did, to.

To relax? Who knew him well enough to say? It was ridiculous, anyway. Oddly self-conscious, Bibbie's eyes flickered to Mellisande, but Mellisande seemed deep in her own thoughts.

 _Sweet on Sir Alec!_

So what if it was true, anyway? She couldn't wait for Monk to get Gerald back. It would all make sense, with him around. It always did.

Sir Alec sighed in relief as the door shut in their faces at last. He would treasure the expressions on the ladies' faces in the future, he was sure, but in the meantime, though, he just needed time to _think._

He curled up in the chair closest to the fire with his knees tucked against his chest.

He sighed. He'd never been afraid of fire, and technically, nothing had changed; but despite all sense, he wasn't cold enough to be unaffected by what was, effectively, a description of his worst imaginable death, enacted by a man he had thought he'd trusted. Death through eternal life.

He wondered if the other Sir Alec was still aware of himself. By God above, he hoped not, if he really was him.

He was glad that neither of the ladies had heard that particular detail, and that no one had been there to testify to his initial reaction.

Deliberately, Sir Alec reached out with his foot and nudged the incanted bedside-novel of Dunwoody's on the coffee table further away. It wouldn't do to dwell on that, even if there was precious else he could do. The plain truth of the matter was that there was little that he could do now until Monk got back.

He shouldn't have been so curt with the ladies, he knew, but, as usual, that method got the most effective results, so why stop? It was a habit that went with the authority that worked even when he didn't have the authority. And if there was one thing Sir Alec hated, it was doing nothing when someone he was supposed to he protecting was in danger.

Oh, he still sent them into danger- he had to- but he didn't like it, and never had. Probably the only man who knew was Frank. Probably the only one who would care, too.

It was a sobering thought.

Still, there was absolutely nothing he could do for Markham- or Dunwoody- that he hadn't already done.

He looked at the fire and shivered. He wished he could have asked Frank to come, even if it was just to join him in his vigil. Frank always knew just what to do. That was some comfort in the long, uncomfortable night.


End file.
